


What the Seeress Saw

by soundofez



Category: Leagues and Legends - E. Jade Lomax
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, au where samuel is the older sibling and cass is the one who runs away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-03-07 13:16:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18873952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundofez/pseuds/soundofez
Summary: When Cassandra was born, her eyes were gold. Her father called her cursed; her mother wept; her brother stared and paged through encyclopedias in his mind.





	What the Seeress Saw

Samuel Graves still learned to hide his golden touch under ink stains, still learned to memorize his books to read at the dinner table, but it was his mother who had caught his sparking hands and said, "No." She said, "You cannot let your father know."

She did not mean to infect him with her fear, but she did. Samuel Graves grew up afraid of his father and memorized his books to keep them safe. When he was a little older, his father would take him to see the machines. When he was a little older, he would think of his books and finally understand why his mother was scared.

Mayor Graves did not love his son the way he might have. The fiercest he would ever see Sam was at the boy's birth, when he had screamed his way into the world, but Sam grew into long fingers and a small frame, and Mayor Graves needed a strong son for the work they had to do.

Mayor Graves did not love his son the way he might have, but he loved the boy's intelligence the same. Sam got the run of the workshop, played every day with pieces that would steal life from other mages.

They were doing righteous work. Mages had a duty to share their gifts, and the Graves were simply enforcers. Sam kept his secret, held the gold at his fingertips at bay, but he knew that one day he would do his duty, that one day his fingers would leak gold. Sam waited. He did not run.

* * *

When Cassandra was born, her eyes were gold. Her father called her cursed; her mother wept; Sam stared and paged through encyclopedias in his mind. He waited. He did not run. He did not tell his father that Cassandra was a seer.

His father went cold. His mother went quiet. Sam watched them, watched his baby sister, and he waited.

He took his mother to pick blueberries, the way she once took him. He played with Cassandra after, letting her reach and grasp and toddle after them, letting her steal berries out of his pockets. Her cheeks were stuffed the day she told him, "Mama is breaking."

She was four years old. Sam knew her age, but he wasn't sure if anyone else did, even Cassandra. Sam got birthdays, but Cassandra didn't. "Cass," he said, "can I tell you a secret?"

She was four years old. She hadn't known her father any way but cold, hadn't known her mother any way but quiet, hadn't known her brother any way but kind. She nodded and bounced and giggled with four-year-old assurance that the world had always been the way she had known it, and always would be.

"It's a big secret, Cass," her brother warned. "Father can never know."

She was four years old, and she hadn't known her father any way but cold. She kept nodding, kept bouncing, even as her giggles died. "I promise."

Sam leaned close. "Nobody else can see the lights."

Cassandra squinted at her brother through his glowing gold shroud. "Liar."

"I'm not lying, Cass."

She reached into his pocket, looking for more blueberries. "But you're so _bright_." She stuck her stained fingers into her mouth. She didn't tell their father.

* * *

The stable boy glowed. She didn't tell her father, but she told her brother. She didn't see them take the boy away, but an older gentleman groomed her pony the next time she went for a ride.

Her father never sat down with her, never spooned honey into chamomile tea to coax damnation from her lips. Instead there was Sam, who would listen and nod and mention to his father after days or weeks that he saw Cassandra's nurse warming her hands with gold fire.

She didn't see them take her, only cried when she didn't come, only cried harder when Sam told her, "We needed her, Cass. There can be no exceptions."

She didn't talk to Sam for days, not until he whispered, "Let's go to the workshop."

She was not allowed near the workshop. She followed her brother, stole pieces from his tables like berries. (She left her father's tables alone.)

Sam took her to see the machines, to see Nurse in the dungeon. She cried when she saw Nurse's fingers leaking gold.

That night (many more nights), she had nightmares of Nurse's hands, except Nurse's strong hands turned to Sam's, dripped with ink as well as fire. She slipped out of her room to Sam's and cried into his chest, where he glowed brightest. "I don't want you to go away," she whispered. She didn't see his small smile.

"There are no exceptions, Cass," he whispered back. "There can't be. Someday, it'll be my turn. Until then, I'll have to make up for my time."

* * *

Cassandra Graves had no mage trade to run, so instead she filled her time with her brother's books and dreamed about faraway worlds. She'd had nothing better to do (nothing worse to do) than stain her fingers with ink and wash them clean for dinner (for her father, who hated that she had anything to do with his son). She gossiped about the butler's relationship with the maid, and Sam nodded along. She asked him about his relationship with the scary man named Spider, and he told her to mind her own business. (He said it lightly, as if he were pulling her berry-stained hands from his pockets. He said it lightly, as if he were asking her to keep a secret.)

Cassandra Graves had no mage trade to run. Instead, she applied to the Academy and its five majors. (Only two of those majors were for girls. Cassandra was not a mage, but she thought she could be a sage.)

Sam got to her acceptance letter first. "You really don't want to be here?" he asked her, running his oil-stained fingers over the wax Academy seal.

"There's nothing for me to _do_ here," Cass replied. "Dad won't let me near the machines because of my _eyes_ , and Spider can catch all the mages you want here. At least at the Academy I can tell you who to look for."

He watched her carefully. "You would do that?"

Cassandra lifted her chin. "It's their duty, too."

"But it's not _yours_." Sam handed the Academy's letter to her. "Isn't that why you used a different name?"

It wasn't. "You're more of a sage than I am," she said. "I wanted to keep you with me."

He hugged her close. "Don't write back," he whispered. "You don't need to be here. You don't need to be a part of this."

They didn't talk about it again, but Sam's books drifted toward lowland customs, toward foraging. She stole them from his library the way she'd stolen blueberries from his pockets, and carefully, carefully washed her hands when she was done.

* * *

It stormed the week Cassandra Graves ran from home. Her brother stared at his bedroom ceiling and wondered if he had done the right thing.

Cassandra was thirteen. Her eyes were obsidian black and far too old. The first inn she stopped at was three valleys away from home. When they asked for her name, she said, "Grey," and wondered if freedom always felt like guilt.


End file.
